


Life of the Party

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Hiding from the latest threat to New York isn’t exactly how you wanted to meet your soulmate, but it will be a funny story to tell later. Much later.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 273





	Life of the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Soulmate trope where the first words you say to your soulmate are written on their skin, gun-related peril that is glossed over and doesn’t result in anyone getting hurt, Reader and Bucky are awkward dorks
> 
> Soulmate words: “Don’t relax; we’re not safe yet.” and “Boy, you’re a real party, huh?”
> 
> A/N: Everything sorta fell apart this week, writing-wise, but all is not lost– I have a little collection of random sentences I made into soulmate prompts and I’m finding them in the strangest places as I search for something else. I might post more of them as one-shots if this block continues, hard to say. For now please enjoy this little fic starring Bucky and Reader, featuring Steve Rogers as Excited And Supportive Mom Friend.

Living in New York was never supposed to be _this_ dangerous.

And yet, here you are, squatting in a shot-up store that is empty save for you and this one guy who looks like he could possibly be one of the laser-gun-toting militia if he a) hadn’t saved you from getting shot in the head and b) hadn’t been hanging out with Captain America before excessive gunfire had forced the three of you to separate. Naturally, instead of being stuck with star-spangled eye candy, you’re crouching behind a man decked in all-black clothes with countless pockets that look like they’re all filled with weapons of some sort.

Admittedly, the guy is just as built as Captain America, but your brief interaction with the captain had made you feel reassured even while being stuck on the wrong side of a firefight– this guy is silent and sullen and keeps glancing back at you and huffing in frustration, like you’re an annoyance.

Today sucks.

You suck in a breath when footsteps come by you but the guy– Winter-something– somehow pivots silently in steel-toed boots and grabs both your hands with one of his. You flinch in surprise, but his grip is reassuring, and he puts his other index finger to this lips. You give him a look you hope communicates the ‘no shit’ you’re currently feeling, and one side of his mouth quirks into a small smile. Okay…intimidating, maybe, but he is _certainly_ attractive– perhaps even more so than the captain. So sue you; all black is a good look.

He drops the straight line of his shoulders and peeks out, and you realize it’s completely silent outside. You allow yourself to slump and sigh.

“Don’t relax; we’re not safe yet.”

You don’t even realize it at first; you’re so fucking done with the whole damn day you just roll your eyes and say, “Boy, you’re a real party, huh?”

He freezes in the middle of loading a gun and you gasp when you realize when he just said. Well _shit_.

“You know,” you chuckle, because what _is_ your life right now, “–I thought we’d be in the middle of pulling off a prank or something. Not, you know, a war zone.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t…think of it,” he says, then flinches and looks at you, brows creased in worry. Or is that aggravation? No, that looks like worry.

“Cool,” you say and smile at your soulmate. “I have no expectations to live up to. That’s nice.”

The lines in his face soften. He raises one eyebrow. “What expectations do _I_ have to live up to?”

You run your hand over your arm absently, though the words are covered by a jacket. His eyes flick there and linger. “Well, I always thought you were a troublemaker,” you say lightly. “But here you are, saving my life.”

As if remembering that you’re not just playing ‘hide from the gunmen’ for fun, he looks out of the broken window, eyes scanning the street. “We gotta find Steve,” he says and takes your hand. You follow as quickly as you can while trying to remain as small as possible. “He’ll get you out of here.”

“And you?”

“I’ll cover you.” He squeezes your hand and stops at a corner. He turns his head to look at you. “I’m…James Barnes. But call me Bucky.”

You tell him your name and you take a few seconds to revel in the surreal reality of finding your soulmate _now_. From the looks of it he does the same, and then reluctantly turns to peer around the corner. You hear distant noise coming all too close again, sounds of a battle you wished would stay in whatever sci-fi dystopia it came out of.

Somebody grabs your shoulder from behind and you launch yourself against Bucky, wrapping your arms around his middle. He spins around and moves so fast that you don’t know how it happens, but in the end you’re held tight against his front by one of his arms and with the other hand he’s pointing a gun in the face of Captain America. Captain Rogers, in turn, looks far too relaxed for someone literally staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Jesus Christ Steve,” Bucky says and lowers the gun, but he lets go of you very reluctantly.

“Did I miss something?” the captain asks curiously, his brow furrowing as his eyes dart between you and Bucky.

“Words,” Bucky grunts and turns back to look out. It’s stupid, but you miss his hold already.

It takes a moment, but then Captain America gets as soft as a suburban mom hearing that her teenage son has his first date tonight. “ _Really_?”

A bullet hits the wall nearby, close enough that you feel shards of something bounce off of you. “Not the time!” you and Bucky snap in unison. You can’t help but look at him, only to find he’s already smiling at you.

But shouting from behind the slapdash blockade makes your heart speed up in the not-fun way. “You better come out of this okay,” you say, trying for a warning tone but your voice shakes too much for that. “You owe me a drink at least.”

“I’ll buy you two,” Bucky says and moves in suddenly, like he’s going to kiss you, only to come to a nearly-as-sudden stop. You both hesitate, but you lean forward and Bucky takes the opportunity to give you a light kiss. Even while looking at you he says, “Steve,” and Captain America takes your hand and pulls you away. You look back for as long as you can, until you turn a corner and can no longer see your soulmate.

* * *

A week goes by, then another, and you’re sitting at a bar in misery, idly pretending to scroll through your phone while staring at the phone number Captain Rogers (“Steve, please, you’re my best friend’s soulmate, I can’t believe he finally found–”) gave you for Bucky. You…haven’t called it. You have about a thousand different excuses that all boil down to two fears: reaching him…and not reaching him.

Someone clears their throat right next to you and you jerk hard enough that some of your drink splashes out of the cup and onto the bar. “Shit,” you curse and quickly wipe it up with the tiny napkin before you turn to see what this guy wants from you. And freeze.

Because it’s…Bucky. Wearing jeans, a soft-looking shirt, and a leather jacket with gloves that match. He shuffles awkwardly, drink in hand, and asks, “This seat taken?”

“No, uh– of course not,” you say and even pat the empty stool next to you.

He sits down and, before you can navigate away, he looks at your phone. You cringe but he smiles at you. “Just about to call me?”

You can barely look at him. “I, uh…wasn’t sure if it was okay. If you were okay.”

His eyes soften. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” you say. The two of you are silent and you take a sip of your drink so you don’t feel so bad about it. Bucky glares at something behind you and you want to turn around but…you have an idea of who’s there.

“Did Captain Rogers give you my number like he promised?” you ask.

Bucky ducks his head. “Yeah,” he mumbles and then straightens up. “Sorry, I…I was scared too,” he admits. He stops looking behind you and squints at you. “You don’t have to call him ‘Captain’ you know.”

“I know, but it bothers him, and from the looks of you he’s eavesdropping, so he can get fucked,” you say and hear a vague choking sound from somewhere behind you. Not right behind, thankfully, but you hear the loud laughter of a different man, and that makes you wince. “Not just him, I guess.”

“It’s okay; they’re all getting lost now,” Bucky says, grinning. He leans in and you can smell sweet-spiced cologne. It makes you want to get closer, bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhale everything he is (because he’s _yours_ ), lick and nibble at that soft ski–

You swallow hard and take your mind off that track before it gets too far away from you. Bucky swirls his drink and if he noticed you lusting after him he’s polite enough not to mention it. “So,” he says. “We’re both too chicken-shit to call each other. How are we going to do this?”

It’s said in jest, but he isn’t completely wrong– although you’ve taken care of yourself so far, and so has he, so it’s not so daunting to think about. “Well we know we’re both disasters.” You hold up your drink and smile. “What else might we have in common?”

Bucky looks at your drink, slowly smiles, and clinks his own glass against it. His other hand– gentle, warm even through the glove– slides over yours and lightly grips around your fingers. “I can’t wait to find out.”


End file.
